“Upon my word,” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time had resumed his spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to Winkle, and from Winkle to Arabella, with as much delight depicted in his countenance as warmheartedness and kindly feeling can communicate to the human face⁠—“upon my word! you seem to have been very systematic in your proceedings. And is your brother acquainted with all this, my dear?”

“Oh, no, no,” replied Arabella, changing colour. “Dear Mr. Pickwick, he must only know it from you⁠—from your lips alone. He is so violent, so prejudiced, and has been so⁠—so anxious in behalf of his friend, Mr. Sawyer,” added Arabella, looking down, “that I fear the consequences dreadfully.”